


Loki of Suburbia

by SilverFaerie



Category: Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel (Movies), Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Eyeliner, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Goths, Logyn - Freeform, Loki Angst, Loki Needs a Hug, Punk, Romance, Snarky Sigyn, Teenage Rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-22 08:47:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2501717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFaerie/pseuds/SilverFaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"To live and not to breathe is to die in tragedy.<br/>To run, to run away, to find what you believe."</p><p>Loki Sigurdson is an utterly pretentious, perpetually furious goth with a lip piercing and a way with words. Sigyn Ormr is the utterly intruiging, perpetually snarky punk with Dr Martens who catches his eye. Told to the tune of American Idiot, the album that defined a generation, this is a story of two teenagers on the edge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm the Son of Rage and Love

_I'm the son of rage and love_

_The Jesus of suburbia_

 

* * *

Today, the gods had frowned upon Loki Sigurdson. They could not have cursed a more undeserving youth. The moment the alarm clock sounded, everything went to hell. The poor teenager missed his school bus, was tripped in the hallway, and sentenced to detention for something he did not do. By lunchtime, Loki wished he had never ventured beyond the comfort of his quilt.

Once he finally got home, his father cornered him like a rat, intent on another "mature discussion" about the future. Why did the old man even bother? They saw eye to eye on nothing. If Loki said yes, Odin said no. If Loki said art major, Odin said business administration. Their “discussion” quickly descended into another shouting match, as his mother looked on sadly. 

Loki never wanted to upset Frigga, but could she not see how unfair her husband was being? Honestly, the patriarch’s relationship with his son had always been rocky, but as Loki’s junior year drew to a close, it spiralled into full-on dysfunction. Loki was the silver son of a golden family and had long ago resigned himself to his fate as the family disappointment.

His brother, of course, was coasting along nicely, neatly fitting into every high school cliché with exuberance. Though not the brightest in class, Thor was a member of the football team and had a string of utterly beautiful girlfriends, usually of the cheerleader variety. The only deviation from the standard jock mould was his unexpected niceness. Under any circumstance, he was unfailingly polite and usually cheerful. Most people found it endearing. Loki found it insufferable.

In a somewhat melodramatic huff, Loki stormed upstairs; his fingers clenched as he kicked open the bedroom door. His heavy boots left scuff marks on the white panelling, but he was beyond caring. The sight that greeted him upon entry to his sanctuary only fuelled his rage. It was desecrated. The bed he had planned on unmaking was already unmade. In fact, it was rather occupied. "Thor, get the fuck out of my room right now!” Loki yelled. “I swear to all the fucking gods!" His brother untangled himself from the bed sheets and headed for the door, all the while mouthing an apology.

Blockading further intruders with a bookcase, Loki flopped onto his sagging mattress and stared up at the ceiling into nothingness. The thought of his brother mangling his bed was vomit inducing. Instead, he filled the void with retorts he could have used on Odin, each sprinkled with enough profanity to paralyse a nun. The flow of expletives should have been therapeutic, but it only suffocated Loki’s mind. He could not function in such tight spaces. He needed to feel free. He needed to breathe. He needed air.

Loki sat upright and reached for his backpack. Out spilled a mess of sketchbooks, Copic markers, and caffeine tablets. Tossing aside the untouched sandwich Frigga made him, he stuffed keys and a wallet into the chain-clinking pockets of his jeans. Loki then pried his bedroom window open as far as it would budge. Night-time beckoned, but the sky remained light enough to catch glimpses of the empty street below. Unfazed, he hooked his leg out and leapt onto the concrete in one swift, practised motion. Pulling his hoodie tight against the wind, Loki set off in no particular direction. He was a traveller without a map; a self-appointed vagabond.

Loki held his head low and back hunched, blurring into the nightscape. Attaining a rhythmic pace, he fingered through cigarette ridden pockets for his beloved iPod. Shit! The musical contraption was still lying on his bed. Resigned, Loki supposed his ears would have to survive without the familiar guitar synths that muted the outside world. Instead, he tuned into the faint sound of police sirens. Their whirring symphony was hypnotic, yet too repetitive for long-term stimulation.

Growing restless, Loki’s tongue began probing his lip ring. It brought back memories of a sharp needle piercing flesh; virgin taste buds lapping up silver. Ah, his first labret, an acquisition that his father had been less than pleased with. But Loki didn’t care. It was something to toy with in class and it added a certain degree of intimidation to his look. At least, he liked to think so. Lost in reflection, Loki’s combat boots proceeded to kick a discarded beer can across the deserted 7-Eleven parking lot until he came upon a chain link fence. This was but a minor blockade to his unconscious mind’s preconceived destination. Loki hopped right over it.

Darkness thickened, prompting the street lamps to flicker on. Their buzzing echoed a poem from English class the previous day:  _Every street lamp that I pass beats like a fatalistic drum_. It was Rhapsody on a Windy Night by T.S. Eliot, one of the modernists. He had enjoyed the poem, enough to pay mild attention to the teacher and to scribble some analysis in the margins of his notebook. Loki mused at the thought of stumbling across the prostitute, the cat, or the talking street lamps from the poem as he dissolved further into the gloom.  

It took his occupied mind a few moments to realize that his feet had led him to the cemetery. Through twisted iron gates lay a maze of gravestones. Each reflected the moon, casting shadows over sacred ground. Beneath the soil laid countless corpses, whose souls were blotted out by time. All that remained of them were granite memorials. It was truly pathetic, the fragility of life. Indeed, how fitting that Loki’s weary feet had come to rest in the home of the dead, in the city of the dead.

   


	2. Dearly Beloved Are You Listening?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's moping is interrupted upon realising he's not the only one whose steps have led to this quiet graveyard at the edge of town...

_My shadow's the only one that walks beside me_

_My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating_

_Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me…_

________________________________________________________________________________

Loki imagined himself sinking deep into the earth; decomposing tissue becoming a reservoir of new life. In the words of Edward Munch, “From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.” He had laid himself down on one of the ivy-draped sarcophaguses, his arms folded over his chest and his eyes staring up at the sky.

 “No stars…” He mumbled to himself, a little annoyed. He liked being able to stare up at the infinite and eternal void while contemplating his teenage angst, draped over a grave.

Suddenly curious to know whose grave he was desecrating, Loki turned onto his stomach and fingered at the words engraved in stone: _Narvi and Vali. Intriguing names_ … before rolling off the tomb and standing up.

Loki's vision focused on an onyx angel statue located about thirty feet away. It appeared to be wearing vintage Chuck Taylors. Upon closer inspection, he realized the high-tops belonged to a fellow graveyard visitor. Like the Victoria Frances poster on his wall, the wings of the statue enveloped the person, obscuring them from view.

Loki started down the gravel pathway determined to question the intruder. He knew her face from somewhere, but he couldn’t quite place it yet. He brushed himself down and stood up a little straighter, pushing his hair out of his face.

"So, it appears I’m not alone. What are you doing wandering around a graveyard at this time of night?" He was honestly curious, he hadn’t seen her here before. Remembering the reason that most people visited graveyards (excluding teenage angst), he suddenly wished he hadn’t said anything. Being so rude to someone in actual mourning would be unforgivable.

The stranger smirked at the question, rolling her eyes. Not grieving then, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m here to be among the dead so that I might come to terms with the frailty of existence and my own fragile mortality.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the comment, his hair falling back into his eyes. The company had been unexpected, but the girl in front of him was certainly worth the sudden lapse in solitude. He took a step closer, leaning up against another tomb, slipping his hands into his pockets. A carefully constructed nonchalance was what he was going for.

"...Really?"

_______________________________________________________________________________

"No, I just like to walk here sometimes." Sigyn hadn’t really been prepared for a late night conversation. She looked the stranger up and down, taking in all the glinting metal. “ _You could pull him around with a magnet_ ” she thought to herself with a smirk. While she could appreciate the aesthetic, she suspected the constant jingling detracted somewhat from his spooky persona.

"You're the girl who sits in the back during Social Studies. Fourth block. What’s your name?"

Sigyn nodded, one eyebrow raised; she hadn’t realised that she’d been clocked. Thinking back to the classroom, she recognised the stranger. Loki Sigurdson, of course it was. And he didn’t even know her name; his attempts to be charming were starting to look a little hollow. She wondered how the politeness and cheerful nature of his brother had skipped a sibling so spectacularly. “It appears I’m not worthy of that much attention then.” She shrugged. “If I told you, we'd have nothing left to talk about.”

He shook his head softly with a laugh, his hood falling back off of his head. It looked as if he hadn’t seen a hairbrush in weeks. "How enigmatic. I assume you know who I am, or at least who my brother is.” His voice was a little too arrogant for her liking, but he was right, she did know him. He and his family’s reputation proceeded him.

“Obviously; I'm not dead. I’m pretty sure there isn’t a person in the town who doesn’t know your family, even the skeletons.” She kicked one of the gravestones for emphasis.

  
“Well, I've never met a corpse half as sarcastic as you.” He smirked, playing with his lip ring.

“Sarcasm is what keeps me alive.”

“Well then, I better not leave the lady speechless or you’d just drop down dead.” Was this a flirting thing? Was she being flirted at? That really hadn’t been in her agenda for the evening.

“I'd be in good company…”

“What, with these corpses? You'd choose to spend eternity here, in this town? Maybe you aren't as exciting as I thought you were.” Loki shook his head in mock disapproval, but his eyes sparkled. 

Sigyn was surprised at the easy way the conversation was flowing between them, it wasn’t even verbal sparring, it was something a lot more organic. Like a wave pulling in and out… Nonetheless, it was time to end this little game; he was far too close to winning.

“Do you not see the double standard here; coming to a graveyard at night and bitching at me for doing the same thing?”

“A Goth in a graveyard is not the most unusual thing to have ever happened.” He said, gesturing down at his wardrobe. She was surprised that he would willingly attach the label to himself, he had a reputed hatred for being predictable. “But you're not expecting me to believe that you're just a fan of local history, are you?”

“Touché, I know when I’m beaten.” He was obviously much better at this game than she was. She didn’t think she had enough sarcasm and wit to knock him off his high-horse, at least not that late at night.

“Good. Now tell me your name.” Loki’s lip curled up at one side, gloating in his moment of victory.

“Fair enough. Sigyn.” She sighed, defeated and doubting that he’d remember if they met again.  
  
He mouthed the word to himself. “Unusual name.”  
  
“So is Loki. Does anyone call you Lo?” And suddenly they were back to the snarking. She just couldn’t help herself, he made it so easy.

“No. I'm not really the sort for nicknames.” At least not ones that he’d picked himself. He had never been the most popular of boys when he was younger. A couple of old monikers bubbled to the front of his mind before he pushed them away again.

“Pity, I was starting to see beyond the mask.” She rolled her eyes. “Are nicknames a prerequisite for humanity, Siggy?” He smirked, annunciating his invented moniker with relish.

  
“People have no choice in their birth names. Nicknames give us a choice.” She wasn’t quite sure what she was arguing anymore, it wasn’t as if she even had a nickname herself. Two syllables can only ever really be halved. She certainly didn’t like the one he had conjured up.  
  
“I suppose it's that or piercings and tattoos.” He brushed his hair back behind his ears, exposing even more silver metal. _Damn! That boy could set off a metal detector at the airport._

“I just don't understand the need to advertise your personality all over your body. If someone wants to get to know you, they should ask.” She argued, a little sharper than she had intended. She could tell his type: the _tortured artist_ who just wanted to piss off their parents by dressing weirdly for a couple of years. The sort who meant less than half of what they said.

He shrugged, his hands falling back into his pockets. “Is it ever that simple? The piercings, the clothes, it’s a defense mechanism, like patterns on venomous snakes. It keeps away people I'd rather not talk to.“ Of course it was. She almost rolled her eyes, but there was something about the way he said it that made her wonder how serious he was being.

“Well evidently they don't always work. You didn't frighten me away with your _scary_ piercings.” She laughed, almost reaching out to flick the ring dangling from his earlobe before snatching her hand back and shoving it firmly in her pocket. _Not appropriate!_

______________________________________________________________________________

“You don't seem the type to be easily scared. You're far too charming to be frightening. I can't think of many girls who would happily go wandering around graveyards at night.” He settled his back against the gravestone, shifting just an inch closer to the girl. The evening was turning out a lot better than it had started. She actually seemed to be engaging rather than staring. Intelligent conversation made a nice change, and she hadn’t immediately run for the hills from his attempts at flirting.  
  
“The man says I'm charming. Obviously, he wants something from me now.”

Loki was about to give a snarky retort when the sound of laughter materialised further down the path. “Oh shit.” Loki cursed, pulling his hood back over his head.

“Loki talking to a pretty girl? Of course he wants something.” Thor’s booming voice was quickly followed by the man himself.

 “Fuck off, Thor!” Loki fumed. “I’m not going home.” Not without a fight, anyway.

 “Sorry to say little brother, but that’s exactly where you’re going. Say goodbye to the nice lady, you’re not getting out again for a while.” Thor laughed, slapping his brother on the shoulder. He knew that Loki would be out again by the next evening; his serpentine little brother was a hard one to pin down.

Loki groaned at the sudden slap and rolled his eyes.

"... all the more reason to stay out as long as I can now, isn't it?” He shrugged, planting his feet hard into the gravel.

“If I don’t get you home in the next ten minutes, dad is going to flip out on both of us. You’re leaving now. Don’t make me carry you, cos you know I’ll do it.” Thor grinned, flexing his biceps and taking a step towards his brother.

Loki raised his hands in defeat. “Fuck it. Fine.” He didn’t particularly care about getting his brother into trouble, he always managed to sweet talk himself out of it – nobody could stay mad at those puppy eyes for long. But, he didn’t particularly want Sigyn to see him carried off like a petulant child, so he sighed, resigned and tilted his head in her direction.

“I’ll see you in class?” He asked, wishing his obnoxious brother would leave him enough time to at least get her AIM. She nodded with a smile.

“If I don’t die between now and then…”

He laughed and followed his brother reluctantly in the direction of the car.

Sigyn stayed where she was until she heard the engine start and the car pull away, immediately regretting not asking for a lift. She ran her fingers through her hair and looked up at the sky in exasperation as the clouds slowly pulled away to reveal the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my wonderful beta Daughters-of-Freya for all her excellent hard work <3
> 
> Hope you're all enjoying the story so far! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you ever so much to my wonderful beta/editor http://daughters-of-freya.tumblr.com/who is a genius with words. 
> 
> To my wonderful friend Nuka who introduced me into the world of Norse mythology and is probably horrified at what I'm doing to his deities. 
> 
> To screaminfuscia who is a magical human being who is going to draw the most amazing cover in the world, I can tell. 
> 
> To Mooncorebunny who has put up with all of my nonsense, staying awake until totally unreasonable hours to help out. 
> 
> To the incredibly talented nanihoo who's Loki/Sigyn high school artwork (http://nanihoosartblog.tumblr.com/post/95190743772/a-logyn-high-school-au-thingy) inspired me to write this.
> 
> And of course, to Loki and Sigyn who were very excited/reluctant respectively to let me write about them. I hope I've done you justice.


End file.
